


Summer Love SR 1402 - Postscript

by Tiriel_35 (Fritiriel)



Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Established Relationship, Hot weather - cool hobbits, Illustration NSFW, M/M, Romance, Shire contraption
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-15
Updated: 2012-11-15
Packaged: 2017-11-18 17:30:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/563602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fritiriel/pseuds/Tiriel_35
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some things do not need saying - or writing</p>
            </blockquote>





	Summer Love SR 1402 - Postscript

**Author's Note:**

> A gift for Beatriceorme, July 2006; the accompanying illustration by Notabluemaia was also a birthday gift

The Shire basked in weather that was perfect for the making of perfect hay: sun so bright as to be brassy and a hot, stiff breeze. Grass cut on a morning and turned come midday would be good and ready for baling once the next morn’s dew had burned off. 

By late afternoon the fields were empty of hobbitlife; a job well and quickly done in the heat of the day gave time for other, cooler and definitely more congenial pursuits. Some made for the inn, to shelter from heat in the dim of the common room and nurse a single mug of shandy through long, slow conversations. Others would rather be outside, not wanting to waste such a blessing. Many a garden had its little bower set up for just such occasion—shaded or sunny according to taste—where tired limbs could rest or nimble fingers busy themselves; all to the scent of roses or honeysuckle, or both, that vied now with the pervasive, sweet aroma of cut grass drying steadily into hay. 

Up on The Hill there was a touch more wind, if anything, but Bag End’s garden was deserted, its whirling fragrances unappreciated for once by owner or gardener. Though the kitchen door stood wide, a blue chequered billow of curtain was the only sign of life until tabby Whisper rolled into a wider, yawning sprawl on the cold tile floor. In the study, the shutters stood close to keep heat and sunlight from precious leather bindings. The parlour too was empty, still and shadowed; the ghost of old woodsmoke lay heavy, barely stirring despite the playful air. The bathing room at least bore traces of recent activity: pools and puddles of water not run away nor yet dried up in the heat. Most lingered beneath a precarious-seeming ( _perfectly safe_ , insisted its inventor) contraption of pulleys and buckets and an old, leaky washtub now pierced with many holes. A diminishing trail of drips and splashes and wet footprints—unwavered and with a sense of urgency about them—led toward the master bedroom. 

A hasty attempt to defeat prying eyes with drawn curtains had fallen to the insistent breeze flickering sunshine to shade and back again - welcome to the skin on so sultry a day (and the faithfully squeaky gate would protect privacy as well or better). Not far inside the door lay a pair of damp, discarded towels; on the bed lay a pair of damp, dishevelled hobbits. From them came low murmurings, not of secret things but of words soft and lovingly spoken, meant for two alone to share.

Sam stroked calloused fingers gently, lazily up Frodo's side. "Your skin’s like the petals of a lily," he observed, "waxy smooth and strong as frozen cream—so much tougher than they look and with a wonderful scent—" He buried his nose in Frodo's neck to breathe him in with great gasps, then added a muffled, "—but at least I can kiss you without getting bright yellow pollen all over my nose!"

Frodo laughed and rolled Sam over and hid his face in Sam's belly, where Sam could feel the laughter against his skin; more and more chuckles until Sam was chortling too. But when Frodo had to bring up his head to catch for breath, he smiled at Sam through tears.

"Nay then, what's this in aid of?" Sam swiped a sure thumb under each eye, licking the tears from his own skin.

"Just so happy, Sam. When I dreamed of being with you, like this, I never dreamed the laughing together."

"Ah," said Sam, wisely. "I'll have to make a note of that." 

With serious face and invisible quill he wrote on Frodo's chest. 

           " _Item:_ Mr Frodo Baggins likes to laugh.  
            _Item:_ Mr Frodo Baggins likes to lie abed of an afternoon.  
            _Item:_ Mr Frodo Baggins likes to roll around on his bed stark naked, laughing like a loon.  
            _Item:_ Mr Frodo Baggins likes—"

"— likes to make love interminably with his Samwise, hoping to show him just how very much he is beloved."

Sam made an extravagant gesture of throwing the quill over his shoulder, and gathered Frodo into his arms. 

"I don't need to write that down," he said, "for _that_ I never could forget."

[](http://www.statcounter.com/)

[ ](http://smg.photobucket.com/albums/v462/Tiriel/?action=view&current=Showerscene-SummerLove.jpg)


End file.
